


Lush

by NHydroxyl



Series: The Mystic Order [1]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Doctor Strange (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Detailed descriptions of gross food, Developing Friendships, F/M, Food, Friendship, Gen, Grocery Shopping, Insecure Stephen Strange, Insecurity, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Married Stephen Strange, Panic Attacks, Sanctum Sanctorum (Marvel), Stephen Strange's fridge, rip Wanda's blouse, weird food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24950752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NHydroxyl/pseuds/NHydroxyl
Summary: “ 肏...” He croaks, voice broken and high. The man feels like he just got forcefully pulled out of his body. Apparently, all his control and harmony with the universe were but an illusion, easily destroyed by something as human as emotions. Not only his but other’s too.This is exactly why I don’t get involved. He muses for himself, rubbing the sensitive skin around his eyes.This is, why I seldom try.What should have been just another day of them hanging-out triggers an interesting introspection for Stephen Strange, who decides it's time to try (not so) new things.This does not take place in any canon marvel universe, and is instead an original re-imagination; a personal verse. It's only tagged with canon marvel tags to help it get some exposure.
Relationships: Clea Strange & Stephen Strange, Clea Strange/Stephen Strange, Loki & Stephen Strange, Loki & Wanda Maximoff, Loki & Wanda Maximoff & Stephen Strange, Wanda Maximoff & Stephen Strange
Series: The Mystic Order [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805863
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	Lush

**Author's Note:**

> As said in the summary, this is set in a verse apart from any canon marvel storyline. If you're interested in seeing just how many things are different in this, I recommend you to stick around for any future works.
> 
> You can also hit [me](https://nhydrxl.tumblr.com/) and [my friend Shane's](https://maximoff-space.tumblr.com/) Tumblr up since we're building this verse together.
> 
> <3333 @ my beta-reader, Shane.

Many wonders and benedictions had come to Stephen Strange's life with his role as Sorcerer Supreme. His diet, however, was not one of them.

  
  


Anyone who accompanied the man for long enough would be aware of that fact and, soon enough, get acquainted with the rather unique dishes formed in the Sanctum's kitchen. It was easy enough for Stephen to let people assume this was another thing in the long list of his eccentricities, and although through sheer force and duty he'd become rather desensitized - as far as a man like him could- to the foul nature of what he ingested, anyone who bothered to go beyond a grimace and inquire about it would get a clear answer; "This is, I assure you, not an indulgence of my desires. Magic comes with a price, and we all pay in strange ways."

  
  


Unfortunately, this also means that while it's true that the objects in his fridge and kitchen are of a rather declassé semblance, the pressing issue is that they're more often than not...hostile.

  
  


"Wanda, _no --!_ "

  
  


How many times had he used that voice tone before? He wished he didn't have to, and he particularly wished he didn't have to right now, fear making him worry for the potential demise of this universe's chaos magic nexus at the hands of cold Tupperware leftovers.

The thing is, this was _his_ Tupperware, and while maybe Maximoff shouldn't have gone opening things in the _Sanctum Sanctorum_ of all places, he really should have warned her. The idea of murderous fridges is just _not_ going to exist in anyone's mind in at least half of the dimensions he's visited, for God's sake.

And so, the frame is painted, frozen in time; Wanda has just opened the fridge, face turned to Stephen in what's sardonically a 'pictures-seconds-before-the-tragedy' expression; Strange is standing next to the counter, one hand extended towards the Scarlet Witch and the other on the takeout food on it; Loki is, like an ambulance arriving two minutes later, just on the entrance to the kitchen, having run from the living room to assist in what a gut feeling had told him would be bad.

The trickster had spent more time in the sanctum and was by now aware of some pulls and energies that flowed through the house, so when he felt the very nefarious aura that resided in the electro domestic recoiling in a premonitory movement of preparation, he had answered the bad presage.

  
  


And with reason.

  
  


A split second after the witch's hand had pulled the fridge's door open, a frightening number of abominations with a vague resemblance to arthropods and cephalopods -If you were _particularly_ desperate for familiarity- spilled out towards the redhead with the aggression of a potent sea wave.

The repugnant critters screeched, twisting and writhing not as individuals, but a disgusting mass who's tentacles had begun constricting around the woman in less than an octave of a minute, no doubt saturating her and her clothes with the vomit-inducing stench characteristic to them.

Overpowered by disgust as she could be, Wanda's hands had already become concealed by her threatening red magic, the color similarly taking over her emerald eyes; Loki, by his side, had extended his slender hand in what was no doubt a to-be silent spell.

  
  


A second later, this was all rendered unimportant.

  
  


It was for a second that a hiss only heard by unfortunate cosmonauts when their vessels broke and were invaded by the vacuum of space reverberated through the kitchen. What met it after was the stunned silence of the three conjurers, the two guests in the sanctum still in their previous positions, quickly turning their gaze towards the Sorcerer Supreme, who had the look of a scared animal; his eyes were wide open, and his perpetually shaking hands were both spread out in a panicked grip in what had been a record-breaking spell.

  
  


So was the shock with this unnatural shift that Wanda had yet to register her state until she looked down at her blouse. Absolutely no trace of what had just attacked her, the only taint being the diminutive stain of beer on the hem dropped by Loki minutes before this whole ordeal had come to happen.

  
  


"For Yggdrasil, Strange did you just--" Promptly asked a very astonished Loki, filling in for the speechless witch, interrupted by a retching Stephen who suddenly flailed towards the sink and regurgitated his payment for such a momentous conjuration. This made the others shake their shock off, Loki coming to place an uncommonly soothing hand on Wanda's shoulder while joining her to watch in shared awe as the man composed himself.

He was still heaving when nothing came out anymore, hastily turning on the faucet to wash his hot face with water he didn't feel. When he turned around, hands still gripping on the edge of the sink as a sort of stabilizer, his eyes were red and his wild expression had been overridden by the mask of a slightly tired man.

  
  


Thoughts were already rushing through the Asgardian's mind. He'd seen Stephen puke up things that were _still moving,_ with the nonchalance of a coughing man. His entry in Stephen's life had been too late to see how he dealt with these magic after-effects when they were a new event; but even despite that, he could say that now, he'd taken it as a first-timer. Perhaps the impulsiveness of the spell had not even warned his body. He'd seen his mercury eyes, wild and shocked, and while he still thought there was more to it, he didn't doubt they meant the magic binding had not come from a fully laid out thought process.

Similar speculations were coming together in Wanda's brain, her heart still beating fast by the extremely recent threat. She'd, too, seen Stephen do much more crucial conjurations without doing as much as sweating, and now what was -if her guesses were correct- basically a portal to some pocket dimension and a cleaning spell had wrecked him. She waited for him to chide her, or dismiss them. Instead, his eyes turned unexpectedly sad and ashamed and he looked away from them, controlling his light pants to speak:

  
  


"Apologies," came the meek mumble.

  
  


Both the witch and Asgardian's eyebrows furrowed in twin confusion at the vulnerable tone of his voice. Stephen was by no means cruel to the poor people that were foolish enough to get themselves tangled in the Sanctum's many contraptions, but he was known to scold those who should have known better, and particularly those who were of their skilled nature and managed to cause a big enough disruption in his sacred home's crawling peace.

  
  


The dichotomy between the expectation and reality made Wanda look for some sort of clarification, turning to look at Loki to catch a twinkle in his jade eyes before a sudden look of understanding dawned on his sharp features, strong jaw unclenching and thin lips curling in what was probably the less malicious smile the trickster could harbor at the moment. The big hand on her shoulder squeezed briefly before he left his place next to her to nonchalantly approach the fridge, picking up the shackles and locks on the floor the doctor had forgotten to put back in place.

  
  


"Apologies are what should be given if your, ah, spaghetti, had somehow managed to maim the illustrious Scarlet Witch," Came the smooth reply, tone trying to level down the situation. He batted Stephen's hand away, situating the enforcements properly by himself, while the Romani woman gently pulled her fellow spellbinder on the counter seat and sat next to him.

"So, that's... that's why you said you didn't need anything from the menu?" She asked with premeditated levity, which the sorcerer didn't seem to buy if the look he gave her was anything to go by.

"I should have warned you. Again, my apologies,"

"Well I definitely don't appreciate being the victim of a mauling attempt while looking for ketchup, so yeah, you should have," She replied somewhat sheepishly, a slight frown etching on her face, before shrugging. "I can't believe that's what you shove in your mouth, of all things, and I'm going to think about the eyes,"

  
  


Loki's facade of frivolity threatened to crack at that with the slight twitch of his brow, back against the fridge now. Stephen had picked himself back together mostly, head bent slightly down in apologetic humility, allowing her to complain.

  
  


"But I think I'd be decidedly less angry if we got on to eat before my burger gets cold." She finished off, hand lingering towards their takeout, giving him a small smile as an olive branch. The witch had a feeling that if she insisted to dig in with anger, their so-far amenable evening would go down the drain.

"Any doubts on your stocky nature are cleared off if you can still eat after that," He said self-deprecatively, absently trailing a finger over the heavy cloth of the cloak which had come to drape over him, probably sensing his distress. The expression on his face changed from solemn to something casual, the corners of his plush lips curling upwards somewhat. "And what was that about me shoving things into my mouth, Miss Maximoff?"

  
  


At that Wanda snorted, Loki's nose scrunching up in a delicate expression of disgust.

  
  


"Fine, there's nearly not enough amounts of beer in the room for this conversation," He said before disappearing in a poof of green that, by now, Stephen knew was only theatrics.

  
  


The redhead shook her head, picking one of her fries while waiting for the trickster to come back with beverages. "You're going to disclose why Shuma-Gorath's baby brother is in your left-overs or is this just another _Strange_ happening of yours?"

He rolled his eyes at the wordplay, scarred fingers tapping rhythmically on the cloak's bright orange jewel resting on the left side of his chest before flicking his wrist towards the counter, ketchup packets dropping on it and making the Scarlet Witch smile with amusement. "I will, but Wanda, if you happen to vomit on _this_ room of all places, next to Loki's food," he said with half-jest, slim hand pointing vaguely at said Asgardian's take out. "I'm afraid my ability to be apologetic won't make up for Loki's lack of thereof. Deal?"

  
  


'As if you didn't know me', her forest eyes seemed to say with mirth as she ate a fry. "Deal."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

"Oh my God," Choked out Wanda Maximoff between bites, her grimace caught between perplexed amusement and utter disgust, pressing the back of her hand against her painted lips and trying to not imagine that what she was swallowing was what Stephen had just described.

Loki sighed and bit down on his burrito. "Welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum,"

Stephen glared at him with no heat behind it, anxiously uncrossing and crossing his legs, betraying the embarrassment he felt about the situation. "Kids think being the Sorcerer Supreme is all light shows and cool outfits," he muttered, allowing himself to sound bitter about it. "I wouldn't have given up my duties for it, but a foretelling would have been nice."

"If its any consolation, you look like the type of man to eat things that still move, so no surprises here." The trickster teased.

This time, Wanda did properly choke. She turned to look at Stephen with second-hand embarrassment and wide eyes, mouth still full of food. Stephen looked disappointed but his face held no surprise, looking at Loki with mercury eyes that told this was not the first time.

  
  


He held a hand towards Wanda, waving off her concern. "No need to defend my honor, Wanda. He's like a toddler, he doesn't even know what the meaning of what he just said is. It's why I'm afraid of letting him go out in New York by himself."

" _Excuse me-?_ "

"I'll apologize for calling you an infant when you read the books on human history I told you to."

"For your information, I'm highly versed on-"

"Loki I don't know what books Stephen's given you but one day after you have read them you're going to look back to this conversation and you're going to be _so_ embarrassed." She said, shaking her head slightly, seeing Loki look away stubbornly. The witch would bet he was _already_ embarrassed. "If I didn't know you were an ignorant Asgardian I would have punched you so hard--"

"Oh, don't make those claims, Lady Wanda," This came as a warning, pissed off both for feeling condescended and knowing he'd stumbled on some social faux-pass. "For who knows if you could actually make such a thing."

The Scarlet Witch's brows furrowed slightly, addressing him with admittedly more bite than anyone had used in the whole day with a single glare.

Seeing this exchange, Stephen unclasped his hands, shoving take-out napkins towards both of his fellow spellbinders' faces as civilly as he could with a gesture of his left hand.

"Now, kids," He cut in, tone light. "Not very cool to argue over lunch, as a guest in my house, now is it."

While he addressed both of them, the look was pointedly directed towards Loki, who glared at him briefly before taking the offered napkin and cleaning the burrito sauce that had dripped on his hand. Wanda, similarly, took it and cleaned her lips while looking away, head held high.

"You can't tear at each other, I believe we were discussing how disgusting _I_ am," The sorcerer continued, the faintest arc of his lips threatening to sabotage the mock-serious tone he was going for. "And I'm known for being kinda self-important. I know, I know, the mustache gave it away,"

At that, both Loki and Wanda reacted with amusement. Wanda frowned and smiled, while Loki shook his head and went back to digging on his meal.

"I'm always discussing how disgusting you are," Said the God of Mischief, looking at him, noticing his clasped hands and the space on the coffee table in front of him. Loki looked at him with a certain something in his eyes, then down at the table, down at his own meal, and then back at him with a slight tilt of his head. Stephen's eyes narrowed slightly and he raised a finger dismissively.

  
  


If the doctor noticed Loki's nostrils flare slightly, he didn't comment on it, turning to look at Wanda. "You're a witch, so I trust you've seen bad bad things, but even then I don't tend to disgrace ladies with the descriptions of my ingestions while they eat. Er, well, not just ladies, no one."

  
  


She hummed slightly. "it was...informative. Magic comes with prices but I don't think the one you pay is one I see often."

Stephen smiled, a tinge of blue on it. "More than anything I miss pizza and my wife's cooking." He admitted. "I suppose it's taught me to widen my culinary horizons but please, no pizza in New York?"

Wanda chuckled slightly, picking on his fries. "Doesn't sound very fun, yeah. Your wife, though, I don't think I've ever met her?"

His smile turned merrier at that, squeezing his hands together a bit. "Oh, my Clea. She's a bit of a busy woman. A ruler, actually. Of the Dark Dimension. She'd be absolutely enchanted to meet you, though, she was so with Loki," Said god nodded at that, taking a sip of his beer. "And she's always happy to meet new people."

"Her Majesty is a most charming woman, indeed," Loki added.

The mention of her regency made the redhead perk with interest. "You're _married_ to the _queen_ of the Dark Dimension?"

"The dimension is a bit too chaotic for traditional or standard royalty, and it's not usually 'queen' what she uses," Stephen clarified, the beginnings of a proud posture on his body language. "But essentially. And! She's also that dimension's Sorceress Supreme."

"Oh, wow, Stephen," Wanda looked impressed indeed. "I definitely want to meet this lady. And if she's queen, that makes you..."

"Her very own prince consort, of course." At this, he was outwardly prideful, dramatically straightening his back and holding his head up, eyes closed and face a mock mask of dignified honor.

Loki rolled his eyes, the Romani woman snickering and raising an eyebrow.

"Titles are just that, and power comes not only from them, but now I'm the only one in this room without one." She complained good-naturedly.

"Well, I believe Thor is single if you're into that," Teased Stephen, getting up from the couch to prepare himself a cup of tea, missing Loki's grimace.

"Wanda, don't degrade yourself to my oaf of a brother, of all people."

  
  


Missing the redhead's response, the doctor headed into the kitchen, steps quiet on the wooden floor. He took out the teapot, filling it with water as neatly as he could with shaking hands, then placing it on the stove and turning on the fire. Glancing upwards, he looked for the glass jar that contained tea leaves he could have, without them turning to ash in his mouth. He remembers how joyous Wong had been when they found out some roots that could be turned to that, happy to regain their quiet tea times.

Putting the jar on the counter, he leaned on it while he waited for the water to boil. Stephen's eyes lingered on the fridge, feeling something like black tar spiking in his belly, brow furrowing, and jaw tensing slightly. The residence was quiet, as always, barring the eerily and faraway crawling, slithering and thuds that interrupted now and then. He could still hear Wanda's voice, muffled by the distance, jovially telling Loki about god knows what, followed by their warm laughs.

He looked back at his cupboards. The man noted how empty they were, save things that were not comestible unless you were one of the Sanctum's many pests. Or Stephen.

  
  


His frown furthered, face twitching in pain when he realized, via a sharp cramp on his right hand, how hard he'd tightened it on the counter.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath through his nose and cradling his aching hand, he trampled down on the uneasiness harboring inside of him. It had been so long since this had bitten him like that. He closed his eyes and focused on the muffled conversation and the familiar energy of his home.

By the time he opened his eyes, the malaise had subdued, and he knew he had plans for this weekend.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Writing is something a lot of people give for granted. Like a lot of daily habits. A fact Stephen had known in his times as a surgeon as only that, a cold fact. It was his recklessness -and arguably, life. He still doesn't feel very comfortable blaming circumstances, but that's _beside the point_ \- that would make him familiar with this and see just how true that statement is.

This is a thought that would have hammered his head like a mantra in the old days while he did this. Now, as he dips the pen in ink, intending to finish his writing, it is just one of many considerations floating in his subconscious.

The pen trembles minutely as he directs it back to the parchment to finish his missive. Minimal magic is involved, and in turn, he's particularly meticulous of how he writes. The receiver would feel the same if he sent something that looked like a four-year-old's Christmas letter, but he insists.

  
  


He writes in short, paused strokes. He was long ago restricted to clumsy print handwriting if he's to do this his way.

He pictures her smiling at that. A mirroring smile curls his lips, his eyes betraying his longing to the empty room before he keeps writing.

The last two strokes are nearly ruined by a cramp, and he recognizes with irritation that it may be time to end the letter.

  


After the last period is drawn, the urge to drop the pen on the desk is heavy, but he pushes past that insolent thought and cleans the tip with aching hands, similarly closing the small jar of ink. Once that is put away, he exhales and slowly clenches and unclenches his hand, eyes going over the lines on the paper. It's legible and not half-bad.

When the pain is bearable, he carefully rolls the slender scroll and conjures a ribbon to keep it closed. The following part he does with mostly muscle memory, gesturing briefly with his free hand and muttering the spell, and then the letter is gone with a pink poof and the lingering smell of flowers. He clasps his hands together on top of his lap, eyes staring unfocused at his desk, mulling over what he's supposed to do next.

Stephen dislikes dallying over things, he always has. More than anything else, because he's prone to it if he doesn't push forth. Right now, he's very compelled to stay as he is, sitting on his worn desk chair in the comfortable silence of his home. He could get a couple of candles, meditate and pretend he simply got distracted. Curl into the familiar river of his mind, lulled by the cold, incomprehensible strings of Creation.

 _I could ignore this,_ he thinks, something beginning to tighten in his chest. _I could just ignore this and let things happen._

Yet, he forces himself to take a deep breath. He's gone over the plan a dozen times, already sent the letter, too. The last thing he wants to do is to get her hopes up like that for nothing.

  
  


The Sorcerer Supreme gets up, grasping the cloak tighter to himself in the face of a sudden flow of vulnerability. The already huge rooms of the Sanctum feel immense and empty as he makes his way to his bedroom, the blow of his solitude softened somewhat by the lush flowers on the bedside table next to the cold side of the bed.

He pauses for a second to run gentle fingers on the petals. He can't appreciate the velvety texture of tulips and roses, not like this. Stephen closes his eyes, taps into the stream of sensations that threatens to overwhelm his human senses all the time. It's a frivolity, really, to use his special connection for this. Still, he smiles when he feels, beyond what his flesh binds him to, the softness of the flower.

In this place, he feels a brief touch of the woman the flowers are a remembrance of. His chest tightens for a wholly different reason, and his hand drops. Sometimes, he loves so much it burns.

_And now, my love is not focused on a single place._ His open eyes note offhandedly that the color of the petals matches the scar tissue on his fingers. He notes, also, that they're shaking far more than it's acceptable. _I'm afraid._

He presses the palm of his hands against his eyes, hard. The sorcerer realizes something, far too late.

He's gotten carried away in the stream, he's past the touch of the petals. In this primordial shift of energy that only he sees, he can feel them. A pair of powerful bursts of current that he's begun to care for, so much. In what's probably a crossing of boundaries, he involuntarily feels himself shift closer and closer, feelings spilling outwards. Stephen is no longer sure who's feelings they are that spill. Sadness, worry, guilt, those are familiar. Stinging but familiar. What steals his metaphorical breath is the warmth that takes over then.

Affection, care. So much of it. It's making his senses ring, his nerve scream, and weight drop on top of his chest making him heave. He's not sure if these are his, he's not sure if he wants to know. He doesn't know what option is worse, there's so much and he can't handle this, he can't, he's not made to deal with this, he's-

Stephen Strange gasps aloud in the empty room, acutely aware of the muscles of his face morphing to produce his shaken expression. He's not fully back into his body, belatedly realizing that the reason his vision is hazy is his tears.

The room is unfocused, and there's a dangerous film of black receding from his mind. He brings his hands up to hold his face, taking deep, gulping breaths and feeling the wetness running down his cheeks. The man sobs like he hasn't in forever, his whole frame shaking with each sob.

He hasn't been this frightened in so long, the punch of it threatening as nothing has been in years. However, it's sadly familiar. The oppression on his chest right now, the spike of chill running down his spine, he's had this all before. Identifying it properly seems worse, for some reason. He's torn between being thankful no one was around to be burdened by him, and feeling like a small child, longing for someone to comfort him.

After what feels like eons, his breathing slows down, and the pressure on his chest comes more from crying than anything else. Stephen pulls away from the eternally compelling river of Creation and focuses instead on his presential body and surroundings. He notes the cold floor beneath his bare feet, the cozy temperature of his bedroom, the padded weight of his ancient cloak.

" 肏..." He croaks, voice broken and high. The man feels like he just got forcefully pulled out of his body. Apparently, all his control and harmony with the universe were but an illusion, easily destroyed by something as human as emotions. Not only his but other's too.

 _This is exactly why I don't get involved_. He muses for himself, rubbing the sensitive skin around his eyes. _This is, why I seldom try._

How much has he lost for not trying, though? It's but a miracle that he's married. It's the most he's tried, the most he's put himself and the people he loves on risk, and succeeded on.

Success. He can't get there if he doesn't try. Stephen isn't sure he deserves that success,. He's past the point in his life in which he's overall doubtful of whether or not he deserves good things, ever.

But this isn't just about him, now is it. This is not him just projecting his feelings onto concepts. These are people that he can try his best for, and get reciprocation. That warmth that overwhelmed him…

As the panic winds down, bargaining with himself, the warmth seems promising. Frightening, still, but promising. He's never going to know what it could lead him to if he doesn't try.

It's with this thought that he uncovers his face, startled when the cloak disengages from the round opal ornament that holds the hem together just to scrub at his moist face. He's briefly worried about the integrity of the jewel until he glances down to see the ends of the cloak had caught it.

"You naughty thing," he chastises lightly, voice thin. "That's the one nice thing I have, what if you hadn't caught it?"

Instead of a verbal response, the hem of the garment squeezes his face lightly, making him chuckle and bat it away with a hand.

"Choo, now, I have to get dressed." He mutters, glancing towards his closet.

The rich-red shelter slithers away from him, and his eyes meet his reflection on the mirror. It hits him how absurd it was, what just happened. He just broke down in his pajamas.

He shakes his head, his black and white curls shifting in turn. He hadn't bothered with much today, and he looks like a mess with red eyes and wild hair. Stephen sighs as he begins undressing.

  
  


The doctor ends up picking a soft, worn sweater. It's a pale grey, his to-go, and fits well enough with a pair of jeans and black sneakers. If he's to do this, he at least wants to be comfortable. And it's less probable for him to get spotted like this, or stand out in any way.

He remembers the times he's had to forcibly go into a store with his robes on. It's not that he's embarrassed by his thighs or something but... it's not the kind of thing he needs today.

The last step is beckoning his dear cloak closer, shifting it in his hands in a practiced gesture. The cloth drifts like swirling water under his guidance, until it has taken the shape of a jacket. Now, the jacket might be a bit bold in its color, but he's not leaving the sanctum without his cloak.

  
  


Stephen stands on the foyer, before the door. He can already hear the cacophony of his city, a lingering frisson of anxiety beneath his skin. He takes a deep breath, for God knows what time today, and steps out of the Sanctum Sanctorum.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

The walk to his destination is not exactly brief, but this is far from a burden. On the way there, with his mask of stoic calm, he picks his scrambled thought together. He wills unease back into the recess of his mind and tries to put to use the determination that has aided him through his life.

The noise of New York's traffic is a blessing, pulling him back into his body and away, if slightly, from the constant thrum of energy beneath his skin that compels him to open his third eye and leave the flesh. Stephen hears the beep of the cars, the talking, and walking of the sea of people, the children playing in a park as he walks nearby. Feels the light chill of the day on his face, the muted warmth of his pockets where he has his hands tucked.

  
  


Feeling, without saturation. A blessing, indeed.

  
  


And so the Sorcerer Supreme arrives, with renewed motivation, to the grocery store.

  
  


He doesn't want to look like a creepy stranger standing outside of the building, and it's incredibly ironic to have this kind of thought considering the kind of places he's gotten himself into, but as he glances upwards the store seems nearly intimidating.

  
  


_Stephen Strange, you're an idiot. If teens can do this, so can you._ He grunts at his thought, pushing past the hesitation and taking firm steps into the shop. He hopes they weren't too firm, that'd be weird.

  
  


The sight of people milling around threatens to overwhelm him for a moment before he reassures himself that this is no different from his walk. Out there, he was another pedestrian. He has no reason to address himself as anything but another costumer in here.

  
  


_It's fine. You've done this before, yes? If you're normal enough to cry over some silly feelings, you're normal enough to do your grocery shopping._

  
  


_Who are you that you cannot buy food. Dormammu?_

  
  


The tight straight line of his mouth eased a bit at that, and he tried to find some amusement in his situation to relax a bit.

  
  


_Sorcerer Supreme, protector of this reality_ He mused silently, as he picked a plastic shopping basket. _Afraid of the grocery store._

  
  


Being honest, he probably hadn't properly shopped in one of these places since the eighties. Rushedly buying water bottles or household chemicals is not the same as standing in the snacks aisle for eight minutes.

Cookies, chips, sweets, cakes... when did they get so many options? He'd feel jealous by the variety of indulgences people have now if the thought of ingesting any of it didn't make his stomach churn. He picks a packet of chocolate cookies, a bag of spicy chips, a bag of salty chips and a small bag of chocolates, for good measure.

Next is the juices aisle. Well, juices and alcohol, actually.

 _Interesting._ He muses with a raised brow.

  
  


There's a lot of things here, too. Cranberry juice, pineapple juice, apple juice, cold tea's (abhorrent, by the way. These he remembers from the seventies.), sodas of a wide arrange of colors and flavors... He's not sure what might or might not be wanted, and he forgets he could make another trip if he so needed. When his arm starts to cramp and the basket threatens to overflow with the junk food he's putting in there, he realizes he must look like a clumsy lunatic, stuffing the poor container full.

He realizes, also, that a lady is looking at him from the end of the aisle probably thinking just that. Stephen, absolutely _not_ embarrassed, turns around and walks away from the woman.

  
  


Stephen gets to the meats and dairy section with his previous basket inside a shopping cart. The cold there makes his hands ache, but he's far more invested in the array of packaged meats presented for him. They look so... normal. He's as fascinated as he would be in face of a brand new spell.

It should probably make him feel bad, that the existence of consumable meat that doesn't move and fight back is a marvel.

He can't arse himself to feel bad for that, though. He looks for vegetarian meat for Wanda - He finds a wide enough selection and briefly smiles with joy because of course New York accommodates his dear friend in that sense at least. He picks burgers - and turkey ham for Loki. After a second of consideration for his uncommon appetite and comparing the amount of actual food he's taking to that of the pops and snacks, he puts a bag of frozen ribs in the cart too.

God knows if he's actually able to cook that, but he'll see. He could probably get Loki to eat them cold if he fooled him hard enough.

In goes a bag of frozen french fries, a ketchup bottle, mustard, mayonnaise.

_Ham, mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard... I'm forgetting something..._ He taps a trembling finger against his lips, pondering. And suddenly it hits him. _Bread!_

Wong, Clea, Loki, all had complained at different points about the critters eating the bread they got into the sanctum. It is with a fierce look of sworn commitment that he drives his grocery cart into the bread aisle. He spots one that looks similar to his vague recollection of his friends' meals and decides then and there that these are _not_ getting devoured by his unofficial pets.

Casting a glance over his items while he puts the bread in the cart, he wonders if he's buying too much. Well, probably not. He hasn't done this in forever, what does he know. He still hasn't gotten the vegetables or fruits, so.

This part, he's less hesitant about. He knows plants, yeah? Well at least he knows the plants Clea likes. Bananas, a package of apples, one of grapes; Lettuce, which he hasn't had since the summer of 85' but he's seen his wife do pretty things with, tomatoes, onions.

Satisfied with this, he loses the hyper-focus on getting the items he had and realizes something. He's standing here, in front of the carrots on display, with a cart full of food. _Human_ food. And he's not isolated in this.

The doctor glances sideways and sees a woman and her kid, putting tomatoes in their cart as he just did. A man in his phone, trying to determine with one hand which of the eggplants he has barely clutched in it is superior.

He glances towards the other halls and sees even more civils, their kids curiously looking around, begging for this or that or excited by what their parents are putting in the carts.

  
  


He realizes, with a happiness that is strong but doesn't make him feel afraid of making a scene, that right now he's practically one of them. Just a man doing the groceries for his home and the people there. This sinks into his bones bringing forth some of the peace he had been missing lately.

  
  


Concluding that he has enough food in the cart, Stephen heads to the checkout. He has to wait in line, and due to this releases his grip on the cart. Only now he realizes how much his hands are aching, but it's bearable. He's not thinking about that, focusing instead on the silly mirth that he feels when he looks at his cart full of food.

  
  


"That's a lot of junk food, for one guy."

  
  


The stranger's voice startles him slightly, breaking his reverie. He glances behind him and sees a small lady, probably in her thirties, smiling politely at him. Trying to strike a conversation. Well, he's not going to be rude, now is he.

"Ah, well, yes," He replies, trying not to sound awkward. Now that he looks at it, it must look silly. An alone, skinny guy like him with a bunch of trash food in the cart. It's funny, at the very least. "It's not really for me."

The girl seems relieved, probably by him not finding her socializing annoying.

"Kids? I know some about that. If it's that." She says lightly, gesturing vaguely at the assort of colorful packages with caricatures on them that are in her cart.

He huffs with amusement. "No no, my wife and I don't really, er, don't have kids, I mean. These are for... for my family. Siblings and all. They come over a lot nowadays."

She smiles a bit more at that. "Oh, I get you. My brothers-in-law are coming over tomorrow, and their kids. This is today's shopping but I'll probably have to get more stuff tomorrow. Supplies get short with them around. It seems like yesterday it was just me in college, buying just the necessary. Name's Lara, by the way."

The doctor smiles slightly, he thinks he gets that. "Stephen. and yeah, it's a bit of a shift." He says a bit less shy, putting the items on the conveyor belt. "I think I might be out of my depth here, I don't know if this is too much, or too little for them."

Lara chuckles at his admission, raising an eyebrow at the number of things he's putting on the belt. "If your guests are like mines, it's always good to have a little bit extra, so don't worry." She says, helping him put his cart away once it's empty.

"Well, thank you," He says with a nod, waiting for the prices to be processed. "If my wife was here, I wouldn't have to be asking silly things."

"Why, you sound like my husband," She replies with a good-natured laugh that Stephen feels complied to mirror, looking down briefly with a bit of embarrassment.

"Mmm, I've heard we're all kind of daft. No offense to your partner, of course."

"Nah, he'd probably laugh at that and agree," Lara says as he takes out his cash (which he had saved up for emergencies. This definitely was one. Shut up.) to pay.

Before he leaves with his bags (That are making his hands hurt, ouch, he's opening a portal in the closest alley he sees.) he turns to the amicable woman, feeling much more ease, compared to how he had walked into the store. "Good luck with your guests, and have a good day."

"You too, Stephen," The woman replies with her friendly smile, beginning to put her items on the belt.

_Huh, look at you. Having conversations with strangers and all, who would have thought._ The smile on his face falters when the persistent ache in his hands ramps up. _Right, alley._

Stephen Strange walks faster, the trace of a smile on his face, pain in his hands, and a blooming feeling of satisfaction in his chest.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

The doors of the Sanctum Sanctorum open without prompt for its two favorite guests, the pair of spellbinders walking into the main room with familiarity.

"Stephen? Steeeeephen!" Calls the Scarlet Witch, looking around. Strange had told them to come here as soon as their quest on Asgard was over. "We got you some artifacts!"

The God of Mischief snorts next to her, immediately heading to his preferred couch and dropping on it like a lazy cat. "They're hardly more than shiny rocks, Lady Wanda."

"Well, he calls them artifacts, anyway." She replies with a shrug, weighting the rucksack on her hand. "And that's kind of his whole thing."

"Yes, indeed, that's kind of my whole _thing._ "

His voice seems to reverberate through the whole place, coming from everywhere and nowhere, in that way that makes Loki roll his eyes. The man in question comes walking down the set of stairs, mirth in his face that makes Wanda smile with suspicion and Loki perk with interest.

"Artifacts, you said?"

"Yeah, these. They're supposedly batteries of some kind. They do give off some energy, from what I can see." Says the witch, handing him the rucksack.

"Oh, interesting! Loki you do take the fun out of these things, calling them rocks and stuff," He mutters, scolding him lightly. Once he opens the rucksack, though, his face falls with disappointment.

The sorcerer takes one of the sparkling things out. "Loki's right. These are hardly more than shiny rocks." He deadpans.

The trickster cackles and Wanda uses her magic to move one of the couch's cushions, playfully pressing it over his face, muffling his laughter. "Shut up, you idiot. You lost _your_ time for these, too." She says, both frowning and smiling.

Stephen sighs and puts the objects away through a portal. They're cute enough for Clea, he guesses.

"Fine, _fine!_ " Loki groans, pushing the cushion away with mock indignation, glaring at Wanda with no bite to it. He stretches luxuriously, a smirk on his face for being right. "I'd recommend that, instead of projecting your sense of calamity onto me, you put your focus on other things."

"Other things?" The woman sits next to him on the couch, having to lift his legs ups to do so, dropping them back on her lap. At that, he politely folds them instead, not wanting to cram her like that.

Finding his selective decorum funny, Stephen shakes his head, not sitting down on any of the available seats. He instead crosses his legs, floating gently upwards, not far above the floor. The cloak extends downwards, like the tail of a long dress, as he looks at his friends.

  
  


"Dramatic today, now aren't we?" Teases the Asgardian.

"Kettles and pots, Loki." Wanda points out, poking him on the knee. "Besides, you were saying…?"

"I was simply saying, that since we have both been complaining of hunger for the last three hours and fifteen minutes, I would consider it much more pressing to deal with that issue, nay?"

"I say, thee aye," The witch replies, barely holding her chuckle. Loki facepalms, though she can see his smile.

"Oh, so you're in on that, too?" Stephen says delighted, laughing lightly. "Thor was a charming host, I assume?"

"Correct assumption, what a warm greeting we got,"

"Perhaps you two can keep woolgathering over my brother _as we eat_?" The god interjects with irritation.

"Alright, princess. What take-out is of your liking today, your Majesty?"

" _Prince-"_

Before the conversation gets sidetracked again, Stephen senses it's his time to pipe in, with something new. "Actually..."

He sounds strangely excited, a grin he can't hold back on his lips. The other two share a very confused look, the trickster sitting up straight on the couch. Wanda doesn't know whether his grin is charmingly happy or terrifyingly odd.

"I was, um, walking the other day," He begins, not meeting their gazes, beginning to fidget with his hands. "And happened to walk near the grocery store,"

Wanda thinks he knows where's he's going with this. Loki's eyebrows are raised.

"So I uhm, I thought that you guys are always getting take-out, and since I needed some chalk from the store, anyways--"

"You're lying," Loki cuts in, though there's something like delight in his expression. "That supplies house is away, way out of the normal route you take for 'walks'. We're fully stocked on chalk, we haven't used it on a month, and I just did the inventory on that last week."

The Scarlet Witch elbows him, hard.

"Ow! Wanda!" He complains. "You didn't let me finish!"

"I'm not sure I should let you," She says, feeling like he's just interrupted Stephen in the middle of something important.

"Well, if you hadn't cut me off, you would have known I was going to say that," He turns to look at Stephen, who seems mortified. "While I fully recognize you're lying, I'm going to pretend I don't. So please, Stephen, do continue this most interesting tale."

Stephen's face shifts from embarrassment to light glaring, clearing his throat.

"There's human food in the kitchen." He ends up saying, bluntly. Finally feeling brave enough, he lays his mercury eyes on them, expectant of their reaction.

The redhead is grinning, and Loki's sharp features are soft, looking touched.

Since they don't say anything, he anxiously keeps speaking, shrugging. "I dunno, thought you might want something different and not have to rush to the store every time you come to visit, and-"

"Did you get things to make sandwiches?" Wanda cuts in.

"Yes, of course. Got you veggie burgers, and all. I hope."

"Well, I'm turning on the stove," Loki says, standing up abruptly, too much nonchalance to be genuine, heading to the kitchen.

Stephen squints a bit at him, before looking back at Wanda, who gives him a warm smile. "Veggie burgers, Stephen?"

"Obviously," He replies softly, realizing Wanda is probably catching on how weirdly attentive this is, coming from him.

For a second the fondness in her eyes is nearly too much, and he's about to start rambling again when a shout from the kitchen stops him.

"By my brother's beard! What marvel is this!"

Wanda's brows furrow a bit, giving him an inquiring look.

In reply, Stephen bites his lip to hold back a grin, squeezing his hands together. "Enchanted the fridge. My extravagance is only gonna show when I open it. I don't know why I hadn't done that sooner, really."

"Oh Stephen, that's-"

Concerning noises come from the kitchen, sounding suspiciously similar to pots clattering on the floor.

"We should go help Loki before he destroys my kitchen." The sorcerer says mildly, uncrossing his legs and lightly putting his feet back on the ground.

He extends his shaking hand towards his friend, who gently takes it, a wide smile on her features.

"Yeah, let's go."

_**Fin.** _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> 🌺Any and all type of feedback is appreciated🌺.


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